


future cat/love songs

by misura



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-31 03:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12667161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Erasmus in Bazal, beloved and cherished and mastered.





	future cat/love songs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliencupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliencupcake/gifts).



There were other musicians at the court of Bazal - free men, not slaves. Erasmus knew he must be careful not to offend, or seem to be striving for a position he had no intention of attaining.

He was Torveld's. He had no desire to be anything more or other than that.

Yet, if Torveld bade him to perform, if Torgeir, Torveld's brother, bade him to sing for the gathered company a song from Akielos, what else could a slave do but obey?

It was what he had been trained and prepared for all his life, after all.

 

Finding a place to practice had been difficult, at first. In Eos, he would have been housed at the slave quarters, where one might know oneself free from observation.

In Bazal, he shared Torveld's rooms. It was a significant honor, and one that pleased Erasmus, showing as it did how much Torveld valued him.

Torveld was often gone, true, but Erasmus knew he would have been embarrassed for Torveld to accidentally overhear him. Slaves must never show their masters less than perfection. It was understood that training and practice were required, but also that these were things that must be done covertly, hidden. Masters need only concern themselves with the end result; it was left to the slave to find the means to improve their ability to please.

Fortunately, the palace at Bazal was of considerable size. Many rooms stood empty, and had done so since the death of Torgeir's first wife.

Palace gossip claimed he would never take another, although Torveld appeared to have some doubts.

Still, rooms were not ideal as a practice space. They were often dusty, and while Erasmus might clean one easily enough, doing so would make it obvious the room had been used. Someone might discover the room and ask questions, and while Erasmus did not think Torveld would be angry, he himself would feel embarrassed for having drawn attention to himself in such a way.

A small, deserted courtyard suited him much better. It was not as comfortable, but it pleased Erasmus to be able to see the sky. (In the ship to Vere, it had been dark. He had felt trapped there, though he told himself that it was nothing, that there was honor in enduring hardship.)

He might sit on a bench and feel the wind, and know himself as free as he had ever wished to be.

 

It was only during his third visit that Erasmus realized the courtyard was not as deserted as he had first thought it. The sky was bright and clear that day, the sun warming the stones.

Torveld had grumbled about being expected to babysit a visiting Vaskian noblewoman all day - not an official envoy or diplomat, merely a guest. Erasmus wished he had been able to offer advise or knowledge, but his training had not included Vaskian customs any more than it had Veretian ones.

(He remembered the expression on the face of the man who had burnt him, and that of the ones who had watched. He had thought, _small wonder there are no slaves in Vere, with masters such as these_ , and then he had felt ashamed, knowing that it was not for him, a slave, to think such thoughts, to judge.)

Erasmus sat in the shade. They had said of Damianos that he enjoyed pale skin, and so Erasmus had been told he must never permit his skin to darken.

Torveld had never indicated any specific preference. Erasmus supposed that he might ask, but the idea of honoring the man who had delivered him to Torveld in this small way pleased him, even when he did not now think that it would make him happy to serve Damianos as he served Torveld.

He might enjoy singing for Damianos, he thought. They had said of Damianos, too, that he enjoyed the old songs, and so Erasmus had come to love them as well, even when he also enjoyed the newer songs, the ones other slaves had sometimes brought back from the world outside the palace.

Some of them were rude, unfit for performance, but some were sweet, or funny. Some were lullabies, sung by parents to their children. Some were lovesongs, sung from a hopeful suitor to the object of their affection.

Erasmus had not thought that he would ever be so daring as to sing one of those to anyone.

Still, there were a few with a melody that pleased him, which thus had remained stuck in his memory. He had been trained to have a good memory, to be able to repeat a song after hearing it performed only a few times.

With no one here to see or hear, there was no harm in pleasing himself, nor even in closing his eyes and imagine Torveld might be sitting only some short distance away, looking at him in bright approval.

It was when he opened his eyes that he saw the cat.

 

"A cat?" Torveld's expression was amused. The Vaskian noblewoman had indicated a desire to go hunting, and so Torveld had redirected her to a noble of the court who was an expert huntswoman.

It seemed all parties involved were happy with the arrangement - particularly Torveld himself.

Erasmus bowed his head. He had helped Torveld undress. It was acceptable for a slave to talk during such an activity, provided the subjects were suitably innocuous.

"Mila kept several, I think," said Torveld, referring to the dead queen. "I guess someone in the kitchen must be feeding them."

Erasmus had said nothing of where he had encountered the cat, or what he had been doing at the time, and Torveld had not asked.

"I missed you," said Torveld, reaching for him, even though Erasmus had not yet undressed himself.

Erasmus felt his body grow warm with pleasure. Any slave would be pleased, he told himself, at being shown such favor as Torveld showed him.

 

The cat did not appear in the courtyard the next day.

Instead, Erasmus found it waiting for him by the entry to Torveld's rooms. It bestowed a look on him indicating it had expected him earlier.

"You appear to have acquired an admirer," Torveld commented.

"This slave begs your forgiveness," said Erasmus. He felt humiliated, although Torveld's tone had only held affection. "I - "

Torveld chuckled. "If you can tell a cat what to do, you deserve an ambassadorship. Possibly to Vask - not that I would ever dream of comparing their beloved Empress to a mere cat. By all accounts, she is far more clever, and far less easy to please. Plus, of course, she will only acknowledge female ambassadors."

"You've never met her?" Erasmus asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Nor would I want to," said Torveld. "Her representatives are scary enough. It's partially politics, of course; if I want some time to think, I tell them I need to send a message to Torgeir. If they need some time to think, they tell me they need to wait for their Empress's orders."

"I'd like to see Vask some time," said Erasmus. "The vast plains, and the mountains, and the deserts."

"You've just listed three of the least comfortable places on earth, to say nothing of also being among the most dangerous ones, full of people who'd as soon cut your throat as steal your horse. Preferably both. The Empress will do nothing, so long as they leave her own people alone and give her officials a cut of their takings every once in a while."

"I'd be safe enough if you were with me," said Erasmus.

"Me and some of Patras's finest troops, sure enough. The technical term for that kind of outing would be 'invasion', though, and while I'm willing to risk much for you, I must draw the line at plunging Patras into an actual war." Torveld grinned. "Sorry."

"No." Erasmus blushed. "This slave is unworthy of an apology. It was only a thought. A fantasy."

"Perhaps when our new ambassador is installed." Torveld looked thoughtful. "I expect it may be another two years at the least, but Torgeir likes to remind them of my existence every once in a while, just in case they're thinking about starting any trouble in the border regions."

"I would like that," said Erasmus. "This slave would be very pleased to accompany you on such an occasion."

"I suppose we might even take the cat, if we had to," Torveld said.

 

There were other musicians at the court of Bazal - free men, not slaves.

None of them held Torveld's favor as surely as did Erasmus, though. None of them had been bidden by Torgeir, who was King and Torveld's brother, to sing for them a song of Akielos.

Erasmus might have chosen anything. Nearly all songs he knew were from Akielos, as he himself had been, once, before he came to belong to Torveld.

Only one song he knew was not from Akielos. One song had been written here, in Patras, by a man as free as he wished to be, in a courtyard deserted but for a cat.

That was the song Erasmus chose, greatly daring, to sing and none who listened doubted that he sung it for one man only.

 

(The cat, ignorant of all that was happening elsewhere, yawned and went to sleep, having found Torveld's bed adequately suited to its high standards of comfort.)


End file.
